


Be My Stella

by aliciawillromance



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:44:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciawillromance/pseuds/aliciawillromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Philip Sydney's sonnet "Second Song"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

The steady patter of raindrops on the bedroom window promises a dreary start to the day. With an apathetic manner, Will slowly sits up, rubbing his face with one hand. The unset alarm clock says it's past 9 in the morning. When did he start waking up so late? He is in his second week of suspension and already feels so miserable. Used to waking up at 6, his body clock is apparently starting to adjust to the sweet delightful idleness. He wonders who invented this stupid idiom, because for him it's all but sweet and delightful. He misses his office, his firm, his job, his lawyers… well, one in particular.  _Alicia_. Two months after their breakup he's still wondering if he'll ever get over it and over  _her_.

He stands up and gazes through the window. Under a grey and very wet sky, Chicago is teeming with worker bees all deep into their business, making him feel like a convict. Kalinda is supposed to be there in the afternoon to brief him about a couple of cases and make him feel like he's part of the bureaucracy. Until then, he has to find something to do.

Discarded, for today, the chance of a walk in the park, dead and buried - probably forever - the chance of a nice basketball match with his former 'friends'; he doesn't know what to do with himself. Watching some old movie? Not in the mood. Cooking something?  _For who?_  His mind goes to that night he prepared a romantic dinner for Alicia.  _Damn_. He shakes his head in a desperate and useless attempt to get rid of that image. He misses her so much that it's sometimes unbearable. If the first weeks have been somewhat decent with his mind busy at work, being at home with nothing to do or to think about is making it more painful day after day.

Wandering aimless in the living room, he finds himself staring at his huge bookshelf. He never really realized how many books he'd gathered over the years. Some of them, he doesn't even remember reading at all.

Grazing the covers, one by one, his forefinger stops on an ancient-looking book. It looks strangely familiar and captivating although, for the life of him, he can't remember the reason. He gently takes it and, slowly, he lets himself sink down onto the couch, before reading on the cover. Philip Sidney. "Astrophil and Stella". He calmly starts to flip through the pages.


	2. Astrophil...

_I § I_

_Have I caught my heav'nly jewel,_

_Teaching sleep most fair to be?_

_Now will I teach her that she,_

_When she wakes, is too, too cruel._

_I § I_

Will has only a vague memory of that craziness called second year's midterms. It was long ago. Another life. Another himself. Back when the reality of his career was still just a dream and the girl of his dreams was a reality. When exactly did fate decide to devilishly switch his future? He doesn't remember eating one of those wickedly twisted fortune cookies. If he had, he'd gladly trade his soul to revisit that day and offer the cookie to some other nerdy law student who'd probably have appreciated the sorcery more than he does. Maybe today there would be some Jeremy Morgan sitting on the big-ticket leather chair of his corner office. Lockhart & Morgan. He winces at how horrible that sounds. But hell if they hadn't had fun pulling the poor guy's leg back at Georgetown. He doesn't even know if he passed the bar in the end. One of those many faces that got lost along the way. Not that he cares about Jeremy's destiny. He never did. Nor can he remember his face. And right now he has enough real people trying to take his seat right out from under his ass without coming up with fantasy ones. Because maybe Jeremy is now comfortably sitting in his office chair reading about his suspension and pulling Will's leg. Payback is a fucking bitch.

But he remembers that he loved those days. The dust and the smell of the hundred-year-old books that filled the library, the chaos – and the omnipresent stench of dirty sox - that reigned supreme in the guys dorm rooms and the mixed scent of jasmine, rose and lavender that flowed through the girls' dorm, that flowed through Alicia's room to be specific. He smiles, nostalgic, as he remembers one of those midterms study nights.

He and Alicia had spent hours bent over the books and ended up exhausted, unable to store even one word more, their young and perfect eyesight put to the test by hours of reading. He had offered to prepare some coffee and by the time he joined her back amid the pile of books, he had found her asleep on the couch. The Comparative Civil Rights book was still open on her curled up legs. He found her adorable, so breathtaking with her natural beauty. He could have spent hours and hours watching her sleep, her ivory features and her full lips always curved in a hinted smile, even when she dreamt. An unruly wisp had yielded to gravity and fallen to cover her face. All curled up, in an oversized sweater, way too large for such a tiny figure, she seemed even slighter. She looked so fragile. He remembers getting near her, wanting to brush her rebellious hair aside but not daring to.

He had delicately taken the book from her legs. And that was when the crumpled piece of paper fell on the floor. His eyes involuntarily fell upon the written words, as he recognized the familiar handwriting. Chaotic, all but neat. He always poked fun at Alicia for that, wondering how could she manage to read her own notes. But the words "dear Peter" painfully drew his attention. Even with her terrible writing, they crushed his heart, smashing it to bits.

Only a few months before she had confessed to him that she  _thought_  she was in love. Will had no idea how someone could  _think_  of being in love. You don't think it. Either you are or you are not. Because as for him, he never had any doubt. He had fallen for her the very moment he met her that day at the orientation pool party. He never found the courage to tell her, but he was sure that at one point, she might have suspected.

He had waited patiently for the right moment, for the courage to bare his heart, to declare – for the first time in his life - his love to a girl. Because if his reputation with girls came before his own name, it was true too that none of those girls ever heard the words I love you. Not even Helena, the girlfriend whose heart he had broken during the summer holidays, when he got back home and told her it was over. He had always considered those words as special, binding and significant, and for these reasons meant only for someone special and significant. But that special person had decided to destine those same words to someone else. It was painful and cruel. An unconscious cruelty towards his love. A hopeless and unfortunate case of bad timing. Because the day he got back to college ready to share his feelings for her, it was the same day she told him that she had met some guy during the summer internship.

He never had the chance to confess his love and now he finds himself blaming his stupidity, thinking that maybe… if… if only… Too many ifs. Definitely too many.

He remembers putting the piece of paper back in the book. He didn't want to read, he didn't want to know. He had just covered her delicately with a blanket and watched her sleep for a while. She was so beautiful that it hurt knowing she would never be his. He leaned forward. For a moment he craved to place a soft kiss on those soft lips, but put the idea aside the very moment it touched his mind. Instead he rested his lips on her forehead, delicately, enough to feel the pleasant warmth of her skin and joined her on the couch, falling asleep with that haunting beauty fixed in his mind.

_I § I_

_Since sweet sleep her eyes hath charm'd,_

_The two only darts of Love:_

_Now will I with that boy prove_

_Some play, whle he is disarm'd._

_I § I_

"We'll keep in touch." "Call me when you're around." "We'll stay friends even with hundreds of miles between us." Will hates these kinds of gratuitous pleasantries. Like those impersonal greeting cards ready to fit every possible occasion. Like those shallow and short-lived friendships built over summer holidays. Superficial. Meaningless. Cold. Most of the times, false. So when on their last day of college Alicia told him they'd keep in touch, he already knew that, even if she certainly meant it, it was probably the last time he was going to see her face. They had celebrated with pizza and beer. Alicia's room was a giant pile of boxes.  _Winter dresses. Summer dresses. Underwear. Books. Stereo + tapes. Personal stuff_. He read the writings on the boxes while slowly sipping his beer. It was really the end of one of the most important stages of his life. He kept repeating to himself that he would become a great lawyer, one of those mentioned in the magazines. If he couldn't have the woman he loved, he could at least succeed in life. After all, he wasn't one of the best students for no reason…

"So this is the end," Will remembers saying with a hint of nostalgia. Alicia's soft smile is still vivid in his mind so many years later. And so are her words.

"Or the beginning," she had pointed out, raising her bottle in a toast.

The beginning… For her it certainly was. She was going to marry Peter very soon. Actually she had even told him the exact date but his selective memory had wisely erased the unpleasant piece of information the very moment it was spoken, in spite of the shining solitaire that dressed her ring finger playing an obnoxious reminder. Not that he wasn't expecting an invitation anyway. The only time he had met her boyfriend, it felt like he had just met the self-appointed cock of the walk. Mutual antipathy and certainly the unspoken wish of never meeting again.

Still, he knew that it was his last occasion. Even if he wasn't going to change a single thing, except maybe managing to make it worse, he didn't want to think that he was just letting her go. It wasn't Will Gardner. The real Will Gardner was a fighter, a winner, a leader, successful in everything he did. Was it a mock trial, a baseball match or a date. But in front of this girl - no wait, she wasn't a girl anymore, in three years she had turned into an elegant, sophisticated but still simple young woman, one of those beauties who would make every man in a room turn around – he simply lost all his confidence and nerve. Will Gardner became a spineless, insignificant puppet, like all those guys he always had fun deriding.

"What happens now?" He dared to ask, dreading the answer. Whether she went with an honest 'Our lives take different roads from here' or she lied with a 'Nothing is going to change', it would be painful anyway.

He had watched her look away, pensively, but with an amused smile on her face. "Well… you become a famous lawyer, you start your own firm and I join you as a name partner," she had stated as a matter of fact.

At the time he had found it funny. The irony of life. Fifteen years later she really joined his firm, although the road to name partnership is still very long and not lacking in obstacles. But who would have said it?

"So I do all the dirty work and you reap the fruit of my labor?" He asked in disbelief.

"Oh yeah," she laughed. "That's what friends are for, aren't they?"

Friends. Will laughed mildly to hide how he hated the sound of it. That's what they were in the end. Good friends bordering but never crossing that sort of tacit line. Beyond that line, something he had to wait 18 years to finally have a taste of.

"Oh! Wait!" Alicia had gestured for him to wait, then stood up.

He had followed her with his gaze and watched as she took something from the bookshelf. How could he not have noticed? It was the only thing left in that bare room.

"This is yours," she had said, as she handed him the book with a satisfied look.

He remembers smiling when he recognized the cover.  _Philip Sidney. 'Astrophil and Stella'._  "Oh my God… is this the book I lent you… when was it? Something like two years ago?" He knew she loved those sonnets and never dared to ask for it back. He had just considered it as sort of a gift.

"Mmmmh… yes!" She had confirmed, with that warm, hearty and contagious laughter that he loved so much. "I know… it's disgraceful how long I kept it," she had said hiding behind her huge and precious stone, "but… I love those sonnets so much… The author has a way with words that touches the heart with his unrequited and aching love for Stella."

There was such an enthusiasm, a passion in the way she talked about it… "You should keep it," he had offered with the most sincere intentions.

Her no was polite but firm. "I kept it for two years… take it back… cherish it as a memory of these years…"

Those years. He was about to lose her forever. He had lost her back then.

He has lost her again now. Whatever he does, he always ends up losing her. Still, he doesn't regret any single one of the moments spent with her. Even if it meant jeopardizing his hard-earned successful career. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter. If he has to pay the consequences for sleeping with the SA's wife – well, they are technically separated, so Peter shouldn't take it so personally, right? – he does it with his head held high. No shame, no remorse, no second-thoughts. His chance to be with her was worth paying for any mistake he might have done in the past.

Like the moment he had decided, bravely and definitely hell-bent, to try and cross the line. If he wasn't going to see her anymore, was there still a point in not giving it a try? At worst, he'd ruin a friendship that was bound to end anyway. He remembers leaning forward, tentatively.

He remembers Alicia's expression changing the moment she realized his intentions. The mix of confusion, surprise, panic and conflict written in her eyes. But he also remembers that she hadn't stopped him. Was it dread? Was it the common desire to savor how it felt? He didn't know. He never knew. All he knows is that she hadn't backed away. He had watched her close her eyes, anticipating the contact of their lips. He had kissed her delicately, his lips barely brushing hers, unsure of her reaction, not knowing how far he could go, how far she would let him go. He had sealed his lips against hers with more pressure, with more passion, feeling the softness of that so longed for mouth. Till Alicia had opened her mouth, slightly, enough to let his tongue venture inside and meet hers, intertwining in a sensual, warm, suggestive dance. If hell awaited him for kissing an engaged woman, so be it. There were worse things he could do.

There are worse things he has done, indeed. He had enjoyed what he got, knowing it wouldn't last. In fact, his heart had stopped the moment he felt her hand on his chest, gently pushing the distance from something that was never meant to happen.

He remembers the silence that followed. Awkward, uncomfortable, tense and desperate. He remembers her kind invitation for him to leave, for the celebration was clearly over. He remembers not getting any invitation to her wedding. He remembers not hearing a word from her for the next three years…

_I § I_

_Her tongue waking still refuseth,_

_Giving frankly niggard "No":_

_Now will I attempt to know_

_What "No" her tongue sleeping useth._

_I § I_

It was one of those occasions where all the successful ones made their triumphant and all-broad-and-bright-smiles entry while all the others sat down in a corner contemplating their own failures. A damn gala. It was like being at some school party where the nerds sat with their bored faces watching the others' parade.

Will hates gala dinners. Maybe because he always ends up at the wrong table and with the wrong company. Maybe because the first time he was actually invited to one was the first time he had seen Alicia after their paths had taken different directions.

He still remembers that night. How could he not? Her already beautiful features were softened and slightly filled up by the pregnancy. She was expecting her second child and looked radiant. He had just moved to Chicago from Baltimore. After the law firm where he previously worked had closed down due to bankruptcy, he had received an offer from a new firm, Stern and Associates. It was the most highly-rated firm in the whole city, in full expansion and looking out for young, fierce, greedy and go-getting lawyers. Will's name was already on everyone's lips as one of the biggest promises.

At the time, he enjoyed reaping the benefits of his first successes. He certainly didn't lack in female attentions and, all in all, he was pretty much satisfied with what he had.

Today, all those things look meaningless and vain. He's sick and tired of this kind of life. Once the law is gone, what's he left with? A luxurious apartment, way too big for one person that spends most of his day between the firm and a courtroom. A queue of women caring more about his fame than about him. It's all so boring and a bit annoying.

"It's been a while," she had told him with a wide smile.

"Yes, it's been a while," he had repeated. Her hair seemed shorter than how she used to wear it at college, pulled up in a very elegant chignon.

He remembers some vague, empty chatter about school and old friends, then Alicia asking him with fake offense: "You're not even asking me to dance? What happened to chivalry?"

He remembers laughing, showing her the dance floor with an amused smile, then pulling her close – to the extent that her round growing belly allowed him to – in a soft dance.

If his dream of being a very successful lawyer was slowly – actually not so slowly – becoming reality, he had felt sorrow and a light bitterness in finding out that she had given up on her career. Such a waste of talent, he had thought at the time. She was the first in every course, for what he could remember.

So while he had listed with no false modesty all his recent successes, the dream to read one day his name on the firm sign and jokingly reminded her that in seven years from then she was supposed to show up at his firm's door, she had admitted that between family and career, she had found herself in the position to make a choice. Plus, there was Peter's career. He had political aspirations and wanted to become State's Attorney one day. She wanted to be there for him, to support him completely. Because that's what good wives do, right?

He remembers thinking that the man had certainly got what it took to succeed, not to mention, he looked as bold as brass. Will never liked politicians, he always thought that they were the soul of corruption. But he knew, or at least he hoped, that if Alicia had chosen to marry him, he was very likely the potential exception to the rule.

If only we were given the gift of precognition…

_I § I_

_See, the hand which waking guardeth,_

_Sleeping, grants a free resort:_

_Now will I invade the fort;_

_Cowards Love with loss rewardeth._

_I § I_

So many times they had been on the verge to cross the friendship line. So many times they both retreated like bulls afraid to enter the china shop and destroy all those fragile and precious works of fine art. That's how their relationship has always been; fragile and precious, but at the same time resistant to the years going by and to the long separations.

His tie with Alicia is one of the few certainties in his life. He's pretty sure that Alicia knows it too, and that for her it's the same. But if he has always been more daring in his attempts at crossing that thin and invisible line, Alicia had on the other hand always been overly protective of their friendship component, gently declining his every attempt with a polite, sweet smile. Probably more for fear of ruining their untarnished and unscratchable bond than for anything else.

Because she had her moments of audacious initiative, too.

Like when they worked late hours, ending up being the only two people left in the firm. It happened often. The climate became relaxed, confidential, they enjoyed a cool beer while filling the silence of the empty building with small talk. Those were the moments when memories and confidences wandered, free to take control, and far from judging eyes.

Those were the moments when Alicia got a bit teasing, sitting comfortably on his couch, a warm and seductive smile on her pretty face. So tempting, but restrained at the same time. She allowed him to venture a bit further with his seducing game, played along, but never lost control of the situation. She never let him encroach her own personal space.

Except for… He remembers one night, they were working late on a case of… his memory fails on this detail, but it certainly had to do with sex. But it doesn't fail on the joking about some erotic novel written by a young girl – maybe their client's daughter? Memory is too vague – whose knowledge about sex was quite evidently limited to the dictionary definition. But there were a couple of passages actually good. The description of the female protagonist's face was precise, captivating and at the same time disturbingly resembling Alicia's features. He remembers asking her between laughter about her secret life, he remembers getting close to her, lightly touching her face in what was supposed to be an innocent gesture. But Alicia had frozen at that unexpected contact. Silence had suddenly engulfed the laughs. He remembers their bodies so close that he could feel her warmth radiating through her sweater. He remembers her mouth getting so close that he could feel her nervous breathing on his skin. He remembers her soft lips open in anticipation of that kiss. The one that years before was not meant to happen. He remembers the phone ringing, Alicia jumping then withdraw. He remembers cursing at the phone, at the secretary, at the new witness deciding to come forward in the most ill-timed moment. At that time, he had considered it as a sign of fate that they were not meant to happen and probably never would. Physically so close, yet so elusive, inaccessible, so out of his league.

_I § I_

_But, oh, fool, think of the danger_

_Of her just and high disdain:_

_Now will I alas refreain,_

_Love fears nothing else but anger._

_I § I_

They never really had a  _serious_  fight. Over the few months they've been together, they never had a fight. Will skims through the sonnet and the word  _anger_  catches his attention. Has he ever seen Alicia angry at him? Not that he can remember. But he might as well have just erased all the negative memories from his mind to make more room for the good ones.

Because it was perfect while it lasted. He still can't resign himself to the fact that they were perfect. The long talks about everything and nothing, the stolen moments of intimacy during the working hours, her smile – between embarrassed and knowing - when he tantalized her in the middle of meetings, nonchalantly, in their own secret language that didn't require words being spoken. A gesture, a smile, an earnest look. Alicia was easy to tempt. And she even more easily gave in to temptations. It's something he always loved in her. Her passion, her total abandon to pleasure and arousal, the way she never backed down in front of his explicit – or only hinted – invitations, the way she let herself go, unfettered, candidly – was there anyway something that could be defined  _candid_  in what they shared? –

He remembers the months right after Peter's scandal. He remembers the news, the gossip. He remembers someone calling her frigid, incapable to satisfy a man. He remembers his anger for not being allowed to defend her because it just wasn't his place to do it.

He remembers their first time together and how he thought that all those people were just wrong. Alicia is passion in disguise.

More than once Will found himself thinking that they certainly had something in common: the desperate need of each other. Whether it's love, affection, passion and companionship, or just a sense of emptiness that needs to be filled in some way, he doesn't know. Maybe it's a messed up mix of all these. But there is something in the way they always felt so comfortable and at ease around each other, in the way they always seemed to search and reach out to each other, that makes him believe there is much more than what it shows. His mind and his heart still refuse to believe that it was just loneliness and comfort.

Not when Alicia's loving, lustful, disarmed look is still so vivid in his mind.

It was during one of their many encounters. For what he can remember, it was late August, maybe September? But he remembers perfectly that it was a Sunday morning. One of those few occasions he had slept over at her place. And he perfectly remembers the moment he woke up, how it felt to open his eyes and meet her beautiful sleeping face as his first vision. His fingers had caressed delicately her cheek, unable – and unwilling – to let her sleep, as his mouth had slowly leaned forward to rest on her soft and full lips. Even in her sleep, Alicia had delightedly welcomed his pleasant wake-up, returning the kiss with warm enthusiasm. He remembers the love making that followed right after. It wasn't one of those just-sex-and-fun encounters like most of their hotel meetings seemed to be. There was something in the way she had held him tight, in the way she had whispered his name, in the way she had refused to let him go when, appeased and satisfied, they had let their exhausted bodies rest, winding back, recovering from the physical and emotional dedication.

He remembers meeting her gaze, her eyes fixed into his in a way they never had before. He remembers her opening her mouth as to say something, but words clearly failing. Was it her mind just refusing to share its thoughts? Was it her heart just refusing to share its feelings?

Will still doesn't know it today. He probably never will. He knows that it was different, so disarming and touching, and he contents himself with it.

_I § I_

_Yet those lips so sweetly swelling_

_Do invite a stealing kiss:_

_Now will I but venture this,_

_Who will read must first learn spelling._

_I § I_

Two months and four days after the break-up. He counts the days like normal people would do with celebrations. How lame is it? If he has to be honest, maybe it's a good thing being on suspension. He doesn't have to see her face everyday. He doesn't have to talk to her and pretend that everything's fine, that he is fine, that what they had is over with no second chances and he's okay with it. He doesn't have to weigh his words so she doesn't know that he still aches. He doesn't have to keep on reminding himself not to look into her eyes. He doesn't have to avoid being in the same place for more than three minutes. Yes, if he has to be honest, he's better off for a while. He only needs to find a way to keep his mind busy. Something apparently not easy to do. Because whatever he does, his thoughts always go there. He casually throws a 'How's Alicia doing?' when Kalinda stops by with papers, because she's the only person who answers his question with no weird side glances. He starts to write a book but gives up on the idea after forty-something pages because he sucks. There's a reason he became a lawyer instead of a writer. His guitar is good company when he manages to play songs that have nothing to do with love – and apparently 90% of the songs are, what's wrong with songwriters lately?

Bored to death, he checks the calendar and realizes that Christmas is quickly nearing. Good. This is something that will keep his mind busy for a long while; compiling the long list of Christmas gifts. Well, he has to compile the list of receivers first. Not that he's left with many of them. He can delete all the judges… then his old basketball friends… should he still call them friends anyway? He sighs and leans back on the couch, rests his feet on the coffee table, as he clasps his hands behind his neck. He looks around, wretched. Then notices the book in front of him and smiles. Maybe he has just chosen the first gift…

_I § I_

_Oh sweet kiss. But ah, she is waking._

_Lowering beauty chastens me:_

_Now will I away hence flee._

_Fool! More fool for no more taking._

_I § I_


	3. ... and Stella

Alicia loves Christmas holidays. She always did. The decorations that make Chicago special, almost unreal, the crazy flurry of buying for that single and always unexpected last minute gift, the Santas at every corner, the stores playing Sinatra's and Bublé's Christmas songs on repeat, and the snow that gives a touch of magic to the ensemble. She likes to walk down the streets, breathing in the festive atmosphere. And she loves to choose the gifts, although this year the tension and the pressure at the firm gave her less time than what she had hoped. Still, with the help of the kids she managed to decorate the tree and the whole apartment. She enjoys the view of the result from the kitchen door. It's Christmas, and even if it's still very early in the morning, Zach and Grace are already up. When it comes to this special day, they forget they are teenagers and return as excited children. She smiles as they consume their breakfast in apparent quietness, but their eyes keep on shifting between the pancakes and the gifts under the Christmas tree.

She checks the clock. Owen should join them soon. Now that he lives in Chicago, he has no more excuses to decline her invitations. Because having him around – except for the sometimes tense skirmishes with Peter – it's always fun. So she smiles when the doorbell rings and welcomes him with a warm hug. "Merry Christmas," she says cheerfully, as she helps him getting all the packages inside.

"Merry Christmas sis," he replies, "oh, and this one's not mine, I found it in front of your door," he says as he hands her an anonymous package.

She takes it, confused and staggered, but pleasantly surprised at the same time. A surprise gift? Where does it come from? As she walks back towards the living room, she looks at the package searching for a card, a hint, something that might give away the sender. But as she takes the card and starts to open it, she is assaulted by the kids.

"Hey, mom is cheating!" Grace yells, clearly catching her in the act of trying to see whom the gift is from and close to opening it.

"Mom, don't cheat," Zach quietly and jokingly reproaches her, as he comes into the living room.

Alicia looks at her kids in disbelief. When exactly did they start acting like parents? She stares at them for a moment, questioningly, and then opens her arms in surrender, but still trying to keep up appearances. "I… I wasn't cheating! I was just reading the card!" She justifies herself, as she joins them.

The confusion that follows is the clear sign that the patient job of packing and wrapping of Santa's elves is going to be miserably and irreparably destroyed in the space of a few seconds.

She puts her mysterious gift aside on the couch, then joins the kids on the floor, as she watches pleased at the joyful mess that her living room is becoming.  _What a waste of paper_. And how many trees cut down all over the world for the joy of a few seconds? But after all, it's Christmas… Zach is beside himself for his new technological toy – what's its purpose by the way? She doesn't have the slightest idea – and Grace, well, she's clearly losing control over her kids, since she doesn't know where that book about angels comes from. Maybe some friend? Or Jackie? She can't say, the card is gone, lost among the heaps of paper. She's just glad that she didn't get some new ornament. If she has to be honest, she's pleasantly surprised that all the gifts weirdly seem to be on the beam.

"Mom, you still have one gift to open," Grace points out.

Alicia looks behind her. With all the confusion, that anonymous package was almost forgotten. She reaches for it and is finally entitled to open the card.

Much to her disappointment, the card is not handwritten, but printed. There is her name.  _For Alicia_. Nothing more. No sender, no hint. The absolute nothing. This only makes her curious. Who would send an anonymous gift?

She even examines the paper. Golden, with a little bow. It couldn't be any simpler. Her excitement grows, and under the curious gaze of both Owen and the kids, she starts to open it.

_A book?_

"What's that?" Grace asks with trepidation.

"A book," she replies, as she quickly gets rid of the paper. She looks at the cover. It's oddly familiar. Still, it takes her a while to recognize it.  _Philip Sidney. Astrophil and Stella_. Then she remembers… She smiles at the memories… Georgetown. Will. He had lent her the book. She had ended up keeping it for two years. She even remembers the day she gave it back to him. The kiss. Their first kiss. And at the same time the last one for a very long while. So many memories revolve around this old book. She starts to flip through the pages and a Barnes  & Nobles' bookmark falls down. She smiles and rolls her eyes. What is that supposed to be? An attempt to confuse her about the origin of the gift? But her attention is drawn to the words written, black and white, on the marked page.  _Second song_. She used to love that sonnet so much. Years later, she still remembers every single word by heart. How can Will even remember about it? It's something that surprises her and leaves her speechless, thoroughly astonished in amazement.

"Wow," Zach comment, "it seems old…"

"It is indeed," Alicia says with a melancholic and emotional sigh. She can't believe that he still remembers after all these years. "Old like the…" She hesitates, pensively. How can she define what they have, what they had? "Like the friendship that ties me to the person who gave it to me." Is it really friendship after all? It's always been way more complicated that just that. Her face clouds as she remembers the day she broke it off. She has never gotten completely over it. She has never been completely over having made a choice that felt the right thing to do at that moment, but undoubtedly not the right thing for her heart, which was left broken and in tears for way longer than expected. Bitterness creeps over her as she thinks that she gave up on something that made her happy. For what? Fear? Doubts? Hesitations? Incapacity of moving over? Of taking a definitive step forward in her life? She wonders what thoughts crossed Will's mind as he went through the same pages. Probably the same long past memories.

"Will Gardner?" Grace asks nonchalantly.

Alicia freezes. How does she… She opens her mouth as to speak but words just refuse to cooperate. For a moment, she just feels ashamed for letting her memories betray her feelings. She doesn't know if she actually wants to know what led Grace to that name. But if she doesn't ask, she will never know, right? "How… how do you know?" She falters in nerve.

"It's written overleaf," Grace comments very quietly, as she points at the name, written in pen, probably over twenty years before.

Alicia goes white, then red in shame. How could she be so stupid? She didn't even think about turning the book, then laughs at the realization that probably, neither did Will.

"It was my favorite book back in college," she explains, letting nostalgia leak for a moment through her words and her voice. She has already – and involuntarily - given away so much about her feelings that hiding them now doesn't make much sense anyway.

"It seems of great value," Grace comments, as her eyes carefully study the gift.

Of great value. Damn if it isn't. Both sentimental and… she searches for the publishing date and freezes, goggling her eyes in shock as she reads the date. Its value is certainly more than sentimental as well.

"Wow… yes, it definitely is," Alicia confirms. How is it that she never noticed that peculiarity before? Is Will aware of its value? "And it surely requires a proper thank you," she says with a sigh, as she starts to ponder the meaning and the importance of such a gift.

Why now? Why something with such a clear, deep and meaningful significance for both of them? What is he trying to tell her? Things have been so complicated and awkward between them lately. Readjusting to the condition of  _just friends_  is proving harder than expected,  _for both_. Will is paying with a six months suspension. And what about her? She spent the last months trying to convince herself that she did the right thing. It was the right thing indeed. Just not for her. Maybe that's what Will is trying to tell her? That he still cares after all? That he still thinks about her despite the fact that she broke it off? Her face enlightens at the thought that maybe… maybe things are not completely over for him too. Maybe…

Or maybe… what if this is his way to let her go? The dreamy smile suddenly disappears from her face, as she realizes that maybe she's misinterpreting his gesture. Maybe he's not opening the door again, but just closing it for good. After all, Will had always wanted her to keep the book. It sounds like closing a cycle and she doesn't like the idea. Actually it makes her sick.

She doesn't want to lose him. But can she lose him more than she already did? They are no longer friends, or lovers, or whatever they were. They have been barely talking to each other, in the vain attempt to avoid the inevitable and cumbersome discomfort. She realizes that she doesn't know what they are anymore. But one thing is sure. That gift is her answer. She is just unable to interpret it, numbed by confusing memories and feelings.

She closes the book and caresses the cover.  _Tomorrow_. Yes, tomorrow she will go and confront him. Possibly with some wine already running through her veins, just in case she needs to absorb an unpleasant outcome. Certainly it's not something that can be done and settled on the phone, is it? Because words can be tricky and misinterpreted. Looks can't. She wants to see him. She needs to see him looking at her. And she needs Will to see her looking at him.

* * *

She considered bringing the book with her, but quickly cast the idea aside. She doesn't really need it, does she? Because the fact that she's here in front of Will's door on Boxing Day speaks for itself, and it does it pretty eloquently.

Her arm reaches out to knock but stops halfway when she hears some rowdiness inside his apartment. She hesitates, suddenly doubting and questioning her surprise visit. She shakes her head. No. She's here. She'll go the whole hog. Backing off now that she's here wouldn't make sense. And she doesn't want to anyway. She knocks twice, lightly, like she used to do in the past. She hears a loud bang and the sound of steps approaching, quickly.

Her breathing stops for a brief moment when the door opens and Will appears in front of her, surprise written all over his face. She suddenly feels nervous.  _Why didn't I back off while I had the chance?_  "Hey." That's all her mind is capable to put together right now.

"Hey." Will's voice is soft, as he steps aside to let her in.

Wavering stops her for a moment. Where will all of this lead to? What will happen once she's in? She looks down, a bit uncomfortable, then walks a few steps in. The living room is a small mess. Now she gets the noise…

"I'm sorry for the confusion," Will says as he takes his coat from the couch arm, "I…", and moves it to the kitchen counter. "I'm just back from the airport… spent Christmas day with the family," he explains with a look of apology, then takes his trolley case and moves it in to the hallway.

Alicia smiles at how he managed to redistribute the mess from the living room to the rest of the apartment. And why is he apologizing by the way? She's the one who just showed up uninvited and unexpected. She smiles and shakes her head, lowering her gaze. "No… I… I'm sorry… I should have called instead of… just… coming here."

She looks up again to see Will, standing few steps from her with a light smile.

"So, what brought you here on a feast day?" Will asks. He silently invites her to take a seat on the couch, as he sits on the sofa.

What brought her here?  _Okay_. She sighs.  _Keep it simple. Don't get nervous_. "I… I just wanted to thank you…" She finally lets out, with a light smile.

"For what?" Will asks with a shrug. He pretends not to know, but his eyes leak the truth. He knows perfectly well.

"The book," she said, playing along with his act.

"Oh… for that…" Will nods and smiles.

"Yes… for that…" Alicia nods, then looks down at her hands. She starts to feel them sweat and knows that she's going dangerously over the warning threshold of anxiety.

Will shrugs. "You always loved it…"

He still remembers.

"I always loved it…" She nods. She hesitates for a moment, unsure as of where she wants this conversation to go. She has to remind herself of all the feelings that flooded over her the moment she opened the package to take heart and go on with her intentions. "Why now?" She asks, and realizes that her voice is barely a whisper. She's here for a reason. She doesn't trust words, words can lie. So she forces herself to meet his gaze, searching for any kind of sign.

Will doesn't look away. He holds her gaze, serious for a moment, probably pondering the best possible answer. "I… I don't know," he shrugs. "I stumbled across it… thought about you…" He says, then looks away.

Alicia nods with a light smile and looks down. This is the answer she was waiting for, isn't it? He thought about her… She's still in his thoughts after all… "You remembered the sonnet…" Her voice is a bit quivering, she tries to relax but knows that it's pointless.

"I have a visual memory," Will tries to justify with a light shrug. But his smile tells certainly more than his words do.

What kind of game are they playing exactly? She doesn't like hide-and-go-seek. She never did. Not when it comes to feelings. Certainly not when it comes to  _her_  feelings. But if she has to be completely honest with herself, isn't that what she's done with him? Can she blame him now for withdrawing? For not wanting to break cover? If it weren't so painful, she would almost find funny their complete lack of real communication. She shakes her head in surrender and finds herself bursting in an involuntary, nervous laughter, under Will's confused and amused look. "How did we end up like this?" She asks tentatively, as she struggles to regain control of her nerves. But her face clouds the moment she catches Will's expression of hurt. She did it. She caused them to end up like this, didn't she? For a brief moment, she considers asking him what he wants, if he still wants her, if he still wants  _them_. But she's too scared of the answer. When it comes to Will, she's never good with words. She always ends up confusing things, saying the wrong words… Why is it so difficult to be open up with him about her feelings? They shared so much over the years, that it should be the most natural act in the world. Still, she can't seem to find the way to tell him how much she cares for him, how important he was – and clearly still is – in her life.

Will has found his way of letting her know. His gift told her even more than she needs to know. If doubt had crept into her twisted and too imaginative mind that he might want to tell her goodbye for good, now she knows that it can't be any further from it.

She has no idea what to do or say to let him know how deep her feelings for him still are. But maybe, the fact that she's here speaks for her in the end. Why would she feel the need to show up at his door to thank him, when she could as well have done it by phone? If Will knows her even only a little part of what he has already proven, she's sure that he understands the level of her emotional involvement. With his gaze still fixed on her, she doesn't dare to move. Or even to breathe, for what it's worth. She just sits, motionless. If it weren't for her heart jumping in a crazy free-style dance, one could even question her state of 'alive'. Neither does she move as Will stands up, walks those couple of short steps that separate them and sits next to her, his eyes confidently fixed into hers. Not a single word needs to be spoken. So, as he leans forward, all she can do is to close her eyes in anticipation, every single nerve of her body focused to welcome and memorize the so long craved and missed touch of his lips on hers. The words of the sonnet comes to her mind again.  _Yet those lips so sweetly swelling, Do invite a stealing kiss: Now will I but venture this, Who will read must first learn spelling_. And only in this moment she realizes why she has always found it so precious. All this time… She's always been Will's Stella…

The End.


End file.
